Magazine Articles and Other False Facts
by Jetsir
Summary: Both lost when it comes to the men they love, Italy and America team up and turn to a women's magazine as their guide to getting their man. Many obstacles stand in their way to happiness, including bad food, panties, and the rumor mill. GerIta Fem!USxUK
1. Liptstick On The Collar

**Magazine Articles and Other False Facts**

**By Jetsir**

**Chapter 1: Lipstick On The Collar**

Allison F. Jones, known to the world as America, hid a large yawn behind her hand.

The World Conference was the same as it was every year.

Britain and France argued until it came to hair-pulling.

Russia intimidated all those forced to sit around him.

Someone sat on Canada (she wasn't sure who was sitting on him this time, though Spain _did_ look a little taller today…).

Everyone rejected her epic ideas.

Germany tried (in vain) to keep order.

Blah, blah…Same old, same old…The only thing that changed each year was its location, with it being held this year in her beloved New York.

The blond attempted to look interested in what Switzerland was saying in his presentation, but by the time he'd cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, she'd already tuned him out. Her eyes wandered over to the other nations. They all looked just about as bored as she felt. An argument hadn't taken place in the past 10 minutes, and she could tell that they were all just waiting for one to start to banish their boredom. Britain and France looked about ready to start another one. They seemed to be kicking each other underneath the table, and Britain's glare was so poisonous that his huge eyebrows had joined forces to make one giant, monster-brow.

Britain…The American's blue eyes lingered on him. The man in question looked her way and they locked gazes. Caught staring, but too cool to admit it, America pulled a rather un-ladylike face at the nation. He immediately bristled, and looked as if he were about to snap at her when France unceremoniously stomped on his foot from underneath the table.

"**BLOODY-! YOU SNAIL EATING WANKER!**"

The fight was on, and the meeting returned to its lather, rinse, and repeat cycle. A small blush tinting her cheeks, America's gaze wandered once again.

As America's eyes wandered, she spotted something odd.

Now, this oddity was nothing like the fairies and flying mint…whatever's that her former caregiver claimed to see (honestly, someone needed to get that old geezer to a mental hospital). It was something not as fantastical, but definitely worth noticing.

It was Italy, and he was upset.

Granted, Italy wasn't cheerful_ all_ of the time (just most of the time), could be reduced to tears over the littlest things, and could be caught squealing like a little girl and brandishing white flags at (sometimes literally) the drop of a hat. But right now, he was sitting in his seat with a completely serious expression on his face. Allison would call it brooding, but the Italian's cutesy face was too Robin and not enough Batman to pull it off, so it could more appropriately be called pouting. He looked to be very deep in thought. Whatever he was thinking about was troubling him and making him upset.

America frowned, her curiosity piqued. It wasn't like Italy to be so serious about something. What could have made him so upset? No one had done anything today to scare him, and Germany didn't seem to be irritated with him seeing as he was too busy being irritated with everyone else, namely Britain and France, who'd at the moment begun a shoving match.

"**EVERYONE SETTLE DOWN!**" shouted Germany, red in the face.

The room froze. Britain, who'd had his fist raised and ready to punch France in the face, looked away from his target, giving the Frenchman the opportunity to kick him in the shin.

Before the fight could continue, Germany spoke again, this time in irritated, but quieter tones, "since it seems that we cannot all act like professionals…" he made sure to send a pointed glare in Britain and France's direction, "we are now going to take an hour break for lunch. Do not be late coming back."

But half of the nations had already left by the time he'd said "lunch."

America lagged behind, searching for Italy in the sea of departing nations. Finding his familiar auburn curl bouncing among the crowd, the blond made a bee-line for him, accidentally knocking into her brother Canada on the way.

"Sorry Matt!" she called over her shoulder.

His quiet voice responded, "that's alri-"

"Cool!" she said, not really paying attention.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

Italy didn't notice the other nation approaching him. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he let out a sharp cry and stuck a white flag in the offender's face, "please don't hurt me! I've done nothing wrong! I wouldn't hurt a fly, I swear!"

"Italy it's me!" America said quickly, tilting the flag out of the way of her face with the tip of her finger.

"Ve? Oh, America! You scared me!" now seeing who it was, he smiled, just a little bit confused. America normally didn't talk to him all that much, preferring the company of Britain and sometimes that other person he didn't know the name of, "did you need something?"

"Well, I noticed that you were down in the dumps during the meeting today…is anything wrong?"

"Eh…" Italy's smile faltered. Had his mood been that easy to pick up on?

The girl slung a strong arm around his shoulders, "c'mon, I know this epic hotdog stand a few blocks away."

Fifteen minutes of walking later, and Italy was starting to think that "a few blocks away" was American slang for "so far away that it's going to be an uphill trip there and back."

"Ehhh, America!" he whined, not used to such "strenuous" exercise as walking for more than ten minutes at an even pace, "I thought you said this place was close…"

"I thought so, too!" America cried, suffering as well from the brand new heels she was wearing, "but the last time I went, I wasn't wearing torture devices on my feet!"

They eventually found the hotdog stand in a nearby park and ordered two foot-long hot dogs, plopping down exhaustedly on a nearby park bench with their lunches.

Italy eyed the hotdog in his hand warily, unsure if the non-gourmet food would sit well with his stomach, "America…are you sure this is edible?"

"Of course!" the girl said, already half-way through hers. She smiled encouragingly, "go on! Take a bite!"

He did.

Italy grimaced as his stomach did a flip of indignation as the poor quality, American food made its way down his throat.

"Good, huh?" America didn't seem to notice that his smile came out as more of a grimace. Finishing off her hotdog, she gave a content sigh, leaning back on the bench and lightly patting her stomach, "ah! That hit the spot. Nothing like good food to go with a good view," she commented, looking out at the beautiful park, "now if only I could get out of this stupid suit…"

The blond then unbuttoned the top two buttons of the undershirt of her skirted business suit, pulling the collar away from her neck. It could be seen that a red mark had formed on the skin. The American sighed irritably, "stupid collar…irritating my skin…" she looked over at her companion, "aren't you going to finish your food?"

Italy squirmed, "eh...I'm n-not hungry!" he lied horribly. He was actually starving, but he couldn't take the vile taste.

"Oh, well, I'll finish it if you don't want it," she smiled wide as he eagerly handed it over as if it burned to have it in his grasp any longer, making quick work of it, "hotdogs are so amazing! Hey! I bet if we made one gigantic one, we could end world hunger!"

Not sure of what to say, Italy simply smiled politely.

"So…" she started, once she'd finished off the last bite, "what's got ya down, lately?"

Italy frowned, "well…"

"You can tell me, I won't say a word if you don't want me to," she winked, "I am, after all, a hero!"

She struck a pose, making him giggle, as loud as she could be sometimes (okay, most of the time), America was quite cute. Sobering, he looked down at his hands in his lap, "it's Ludwig…"

"Germany?" America said curiously. Her tone then became suspicious, "what, did he try to punk you or something? Because if he did…"

"Ve? No!" Italy said in his friend's defense, waving his hands frantically in front of him, "he didn't- I don't even know what that means! Please don't hurt him!"

"Okay! I won't! I won't!" she promised, then prompted, "so…what about Germany?"

He was silent for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to the nation beside him, "I like him as more than a friend likes a friend but he can be so scary sometimes and I don't think he likes me back and I don't know what to dooooo-!"

All the words came rushing out of his mouth in an almost incomprehensible babble, tears springing from his eyes. He felt America's arms around him and he clung to her, soaking the material on her shoulder as she patted his back a little too roughly.

"Awww, Sweetheart! Don't cry!" said America, her voice adopting a barely-there Southern accent. She sounded a little panicked as well, as if she wasn't used to dealing with other people's tears. She began to rock the two of them, and hummed a soft tune under her breath. The sound and motions, though off-key and a little jerky respectively, were soothing to Italy, and soon, the tears slowed to a stop.

"There we go…" America stop rocking them and gave him a hearty pat on the pack, "it'll be alright. Tell ya what, I'll help you!"

Sniffing, Italy looked up, hope shining in his eyes, "…you will?"

"Promise!" she beamed at him, her voice returning to its general, Midwestern American accent. Her shoulders squared proudly. The "I'm the Hero!" though unspoken, was made very clear.

Italy beamed, letting out a cry of joy and clapping excitedly, "oh, thank you, America!"

"It's no big deal," she said, shrugging it off, "and plus, I kinda know how you feel…"

"Ve?" Italy blinked, "you do?"

America smiled slyly before tucking her feet under her on the bench, leaning forward and looking for all the world like a teenage girl at a slumber party spreading rumors, "it's a secret so no telling!"

"I promise! You can tell me! I won't tell a soul, I swear!" clasping his hands together, he leaned forward, too.

She looked away for a moment, as if deciding whether or not she actually wanted to tell him, "well…" she bit her lip, looking back at him, "I kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly…like-like Arthur."

Italy gasped, "Britain? Really?" at her nod, "have you told him?"

"Of course not!" she looked aghast at the mere suggestion that she do it, "I mean…the guy used to bathe me…you can't get past stuff like that! You just can't!"

The two stared at each other.

America scratched the back of her neck, "okay, so maybe I'm not all that experienced in romance, either…"

Italy smiled gently, "oh, well, that's okay! We can get through this together!"

She grinnd.

Another beat of silence.

"So…" Italy looked uncertain, "what do we do now?"

America looked away for a moment, deep in thought. Suddenly, as if a light bulb turned on above her head, she looked back at him, a spark in her eyes, "we consult the experts. C'mon!"

She stood and began walking away quickly, wobbling a little in her uncomfortable heels. Not wanting to be left behind, but dreading the idea of another long walk, Italy reluctantly hurried after her.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

"Don't you have anything better to do than to bother me?" Britain asked, glaring at the blond walking beside him.

"Oh, Arthur! You wound me!" France cried, placing a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, "is it such a crime to try and keep another person company?"

"You're version of 'keeping another person company' could be a crime in and of itself…" grumbled the Briton.

The two were currently travelling down a street, looking for something edible. Seeing as they were in an American city, they highly doubted that they'd find anything suitable.

France wrinkled his nose in disdain, "good heavens! Does this girl serve anything _not_ covered in grease?" he paused and looked around, "speaking of which, where is the little loudmouth? She usually lunches with you, does she not?"

"How should I know? I'm not her bloody keeper…" said Britain with a hint of bitterness, "last I saw of her, she was talking to that Italian, Veneziano..."

"Oh?" France perked at the mention of his baby brother, and then smirked, "perhaps they are becoming an item?" It wasn't likely, but he couldn't resist the chance to rile the Briton up.

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Britain, his large eyebrows furrowing in a scowl.

The smirk grew wider; this was just the reaction he'd hoped for, "is that jealousy I detect?"

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" he yelled indignantly, but a blush was already beginning to form on his face, "I-I just think the idea of them together is utterly preposterous."

"Oh, come now, Arthur," said France, waving away the explanation with a flick of his wrist, "everyone knows that there's been sexual tension between the two of you since the Second World War. It is no secret."

Britain said nothing, and that was enough to confirm France's words.

"Ohoho! So you do have feelings for her," he said snidely, wrapping an arm around the other man's shoulders.

"Oh sod off!" snapped Britain, shaking the arm off, "so what if I do? It's not bloody likely that she'll return them."

It wasn't that he found France easy to confide in, or trusted him or even liked him all that much; it was that he didn't really have anyone else to talk to.

With no hint of teasing towards him, France said, "oh I wouldn't say that, Arthur. There have been many a time that I have caught the girl staring at your bottom when she thought no one was looking."

Face coloring, he couldn't think of anything to say to that.

The two approached what was supposedly a high class restaurant.

France sighed in resignation, "this will have to do…"

.-._Hetalia_.-.

"Bruder, have you seen Feliciano?"

"Italy?" asked Prussia, looking up from the television of his and Germany's hotel room, his bird bouncing a bit on his head before settling down once more, "can't say I have, West…" he then paused to think, "oh yeah! I think I saw him leave with that hottie America earlier."

Germany frowned, why was Italy talking to America?

"What's the matter? Worried she's going to steal your boyfriend away from you?" smiling wolfishly, Prussia leaned forward, trying to get a reaction out of the other nation.

"Feliciano is not my boyfriend," Germany said sternly, avoiding eye contact.

"But you'd like him to be!" Prussia sing-songed. "I mean, honestly, the two of you are on a first name basis and you sleep in the same bed most of the time. I'm just waiting for you guys to announce the engagement."

"Don't be stupid!" growled the blond, but his blush said enough.

"Whatever you say, Ludwig…" said Prussia with a triumphant grin on his face. He turned back to the television.

The conversation was over, but both nations were now wondering what business America had with their little Italian friend.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

Italy stared at the magazine stand. Dozens of various models and actresses smiled back at him. He turned to his companion.

"Eh…" he began, a little unsure, "how will these help us?"

"Are you kidding?" America held up a random magazine, "these girly magazines are like secondary Bibles to me! I can't live without my monthly issue of _Cosmo_!"

Italy once again looked at the rack, reading the claims of "_Perfect make up tips inside!_" and "_Find the right heels to compliment your butt!"_ he frowned, "but, I'm not a girl…"

The blond shrugged, "we can just replace the she's with he's…I'm sure it'll work out." She began to flip through the issue in her hand, "plus, these things offer great advice for everything. I mean _everything_. Including love advice! There's bound to be something in here that will help us with our love problems."

She began searching with such enthusiasm that it encouraged him as well. They began to look through each issue the stand had to offer, trying to find an article that would give them the key to romantic success.

Finally, Italy found something, "Look at this!" he handed her the magazine he was looking at, "_101 Ways To Get Your Man!_"

America looked at the article in question, scratching at the spot on her neck that her collar had been bothering as she did. As she read through a little bit of the article, her face seemed to light up. She beamed at Italy, "Italy! This thing is genius! There's no way we can fail if we follow this!"

"Fantastic!"

The two of them began to jump together, squealing with excitement, oblivious to the odd stares they were getting from the passing New Yorkers.

"Say, America…" Italy started, "we're friends now, so you can call me Feliciano if you like."

America smiled, "alright, Feli," she said, shortening his name affectionately. She stuck out her hand, "and you can call me Allison!"

They shook hands, the girl's grip nearly breaking poor Italy's hand. He glanced down, and seeing the time on America's watch, let out a panicked squeak, "oh no! We're going to be late!"

America checked the time herself, "crap! I didn't realize how late it was!"

"Germany hates it when people are late! He'll be mad at me for sure!" Italy cried. How could he win Germany's heart if the man was mad at him?

"Then we'll just have to run the way back!" said America, tossing a ten dollar bill in the direction of the stand peddler with a shout of "keep the change!" and taking off in the direction of the hotel that their conference was being held in, the magazine tucked under her arm.

With her heels on, her wobbly pace wasn't much faster than a slow jog, but it was still too much for Italy.

"Allison! Why can't we take a taxi?" whined Italy.

"This is New York, Feli, if we take a cab we'll get there tomorrow!" was the girl's reply.

The two nations ran through the streets of New York, drawing the attention of everyone they passed.

"Tourists…" one man grumbled as the unlikely pair stumbled past.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

Various nations stared at the clock impatiently. The break had ended ten minutes ago and all nations were seated.

All except two.

"Can't we just get on with it?" asked Switzerland impatiently.

"We're still missing two nations."

"Who?"

"Italy and America."

"Hey, didn't those two leave together?"

"Oh! I saw them!"

"Yeah, me, too! They looked pretty cozy with each other…"

"Really? You don't think…"

And so the rumor mill began running, the room abuzz with speculation. Each nation having their own opinion on the absent pair, some even offering so-called "evidence" that the two were, in fact, a couple.

Germany and Britain remained silent. They were too mature for petty gossip, but a part of them couldn't help but think that Prussia and France's earlier teasing had some validity to it. Were America and Italy really going out? Could that even be a possibility?

The doors to the meeting room swung open. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared.

America and Italy stumbled in, both looking disheveled and a little red in the face. Several nations gawked. Could they have been…? _No_… It wasn't possible… They looked at America, who was walking on wobbly legs and leaning on Italy for support. Said nation had an arm wrapped around the blond for extra support. What had they been up to during the break?

Then they saw it.

On America's neck, partially obscured by a suspiciously unbuttoned collar, was a red mark.

A… _hickey?_

By now, jaws had hit the floor.

"S-sorry we're late!" panted Italy.

"Yeah," said America, straightening and moving out of Italy's grasp to stand on her own. Running a shaky hand through her short, disheveled hair, she laughed, "must've lost track of time…"

The pair shared secretive smiles before taking their seats. If they hadn't been two of the most oblivious nations in the world, they would've noticed that they still held the complete attention of everyone else in the room.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind now that there was something of a romance going on between the two nations. A very… _heated_ romance.

Britain watched quietly as America took a seat, slipped something into her briefcase, and began straightening herself out. She buttoned up her shirt, sorted out her hair, and smoothed down her clothing, all the while oblivious to the looks she was getting. She looked up, glancing in Britain's direction. He tore his gaze away, feeling as if his chest was tightening. He immediately scolded himself. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected some other, more outgoing nation to catch her attention. The girl had always had a go-getter attitude, why would she waste her time on someone as old and stuffy as he was?

"I'm just as surprised as you, mon ami."

He looked at France, who was alternating between giving Italy and America odd looks, and looking at Britain sympathetically. He also looked a bit shaken; the so-called "Expert on L'amour" had not seen this coming.

Prussia looked over at his brother. Germany was careful to keep his face indifferent, but Prussia knew that the man must have been crushed. The silverette frowned; he was pretty damn sure that Italy was…how did the Americans say it? Gay as a three dollar bill. And on top of that (or bottom, if he was feeling particularly lewd about it all), gay for his brother. He narrowed his eyes, this wasn't what it seemed, and he was determined to prove it.

Suddenly, Germany cleared his throat. Some of the more dignified nations, realizing that they were staring, now focused their attention on Germany while others just continued to stare, "now that we are all here, we can continue with the meeting. America…" the name came out a little strained, he cleared his throat, "it's your turn to speak."

"Okay!" said America cheerfully. She stood, making her way to the front of the room. She faced the other nations, and with a bright smile, began speaking, "so, I've recently been thinking about what we can do to solve world hunger, and after getting a little inspiration during our break," she sent what was probably supposed to be a subtle wink to Italy if not for the whole world watching her every move, "I have come up with a solution! We will all put our resources together to make one gigantic hotdog!"

Everyone exchanged confused glances. What during her time with Italy could have inspired America to make a giant-oh…

_OH_.

Those who'd chosen that inopportune moment to take a sip of water immediately spit it back out.

No one could focus for the rest of the meeting, and America and Italy had no idea that they were the cause of it all.

**A/N:** _What can I say about this little brain child of mine? Well, it's for me, so if y'all wanna tag along on this adventure, that's cool, if not, that's cool, too._

_I've made America a girl because I'd like to explore the feminine side of the country (which is just a quirky/spectacular/ annoying as the masculine side in its own unique way) as well as American female stereotypes, and I like the pairing Fem!USxUK. Like I said, this one's for me._

_Thanks for reading! Bonus points for sticking around to read the Author's Note. I usually post some important things in here so look out for it!_

_Later, baybays!_


	2. Dinner Plans

**Magazine Articles and Other False Facts**

**By Jetsir**

**Chapter 2: Dinner Plans**

"Today's meeting has come to a close. Remember, tomorrow's meeting will begin at 8 am sharp and- **WOULD YOU AT LEAST LET ME FINISH SPEAKING BEFORE YOU LEAVE!"**

Italy watched as Germany sighed, rubbing at his temples as the other nations took their leave. The blond had been more tense than usual during the meeting, being even less tolerant of needless distractions and petty squabbles. It worried Italy, so much so that it momentarily distracted him from his hunger.

Speaking of which…

Italy let out a miserable groan as his stomach growled. He was starving. Not counting his deadly encounter with American food at lunch (which had been one bite too many) he hadn't eaten since morning. _Morning_. He was dying, he was sure of it, wasting away. He hadn't gone so long without eating since he couldn't remember (earlier instances were so traumatic that they were blocked from his memory).

It was at this point that he noticed Germany making his way to the meeting room's exit. Pulling himself out of his hunger-induced haze, he quickly scrambled after the taller man. It was odd, usually Germany would wait for Italy or, at the least, tell him to hurry up. Just what was wrong with Germany today? He hadn't been like that this morning…

Pushing his worries aside for the sake of getting food in his belly, Italy called out to the man, "Ludwig! Ludwiiiiig! Wait for me!"

Germany stopped, almost hesitantly and turned around, an unreadable expression on his face, "what is it, Feliciano?"

Italy put on his brightest smile, "I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner with me. Most of America's food is crap, but I'm sure we can find something! Please?"

Italy was practically bouncing in anticipation. He always enjoyed eating with Germany; it almost made the food taste even better if that was possible. And Germany was so nice; sometimes he'd even pay for the meal!

He tried, and failed, to hide his disappointment when Germany said, "I'm sorry, Feliciano, but I can't have dinner with you tonight."

"Ve? Why not?" he pouted, his curl drooping with his mood.

Something flashed in Germany's eyes, and his expression seemed to soften. Then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, his countenance becoming stony, "I'm very busy. You will have to find someone else to eat with."

And he was gone, leaving Italy to stare dejectedly at his retreating back.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

As soon as Germany set foot in the hallway, he was ambushed by his brother.

"What took you so long, West?" asked Prussia stepping away from the wall he was leaning on. He fell into step with the blond and the two made their way towards the nearest elevator, intent on heading back to their shared room.

Germany narrowed his eyes in suspicion, from where the silverette had been, he could have easily heard his conversation with Italy, "were you eavesdropping?"

"'Course I was. Good job hurting the poor guy's feelings, by the way. _Very awesome_," the former nation dead-panned.

Germany winced, looking more than a little guilty, "what does it matter?" he asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice, "he has America to keep him company."

"Oh _come on_," lazily slinging his arm around his brother's shoulders, Prussia gave him a blank look, "you honestly believe that Italy is in a relationship with _America_?"

Germany frowned. Before that afternoon, he would have scoffed at the idea of Italy and America in a relationship. In fact, he did. But then, he saw how they had acted towards each other after the lunch break. How openly affectionate and light-hearted America was towards the brunette, something that Italy happily returned with equal fervor. Now, the idea of the two as a couple seemed completely plausible.

At the blond's silence, Prussia sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand, "how is it that someone as un-awesome as you is related to someone as awesome as me?"

Germany bristled, and was about to make a retort when the sound of footsteps behind them stopped both brothers in their tracks. They turned around, only to find that the only other occupants in the hall were the paintings adorning the walls and a couple of potted plants.

Wait…

Since when did potted plants have hair curls?

With a sigh of irritation, Germany walked over and peered behind the plant, "what on earth are you doing, Romano?"

"Fuck off, you potato bastard!" shouted the Italian man, rising to his feet. His face was flushed with his usual extreme dislike of the German as well as embarrassment from being caught spying.

"What were you doing spying on West and the awesome me anyway?" Prussia was grinning from ear to ear in amusement.

Romano glared, and looked ready to shout out an insult when they were interrupted by a new voice.

"Hey guys!"

They all turned. America stood there smiling brightly at them. She was barefoot, her heels being held in one hand while the other held her brief case.

Clearing his throat and masking his surprise (how had she managed to sneak up on them?) Germany greeted her, "America."

She widened her smile briefly in acknowledgement. She tilted her head curiously, surveying them, "what're y'all doing standing around in the hallway for?"

They stared at her, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, America let out a giggle, "a gay baby was just born!"

They stared at her even more.

Noticing they didn't share her amusement, her smile shrunk, "what? You haven't heard of the saying? You know, whenever there's an awkward silence…" she trailed off at their blank stares, "_nevermind_. Hey, where's Feli?"

They blinked, "Feli?" asked Prussia.

"Yeah! Feli! Y'know… _Italy?_" she peered around the trio, as if one of them was concealing the man behind them.

Germany tensed, since when had America and Italy been on a first name basis? A peculiar feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly he felt anger, anger towards America, and a little bit of defensiveness. He felt as if the girl was threatening him, but threatening him how? Threatening his relationship with Italy? He pushed the thought aside, wrenching himself back to the present.

There were some things he wasn't ready to admit to himself just yet.

He answered her, "he is most likely still in the meeting room-"

"What do you want with my brother?" snarled Romano, speaking over Germany's words.

"Yeah," said Prussia. He'd managed to contain his awesomeness for the past couple of minutes in favor of observing America. So far there was no indication either way of her being in a relationship with Italy. Maybe if they could get her to clarify what her intentions were with the brunette his un-awesome little brother would quit moping around like a teenage girl, "what's up with you and Italy?"

America paused hesitantly, then, her grin turned mischeivious, "it's a secret!" She stage whispered then winked playfully in Germany's direction.

When Germany tensed even more than he already was, Prussia could've groaned. Why did the girl have to be so dense when it came to reading the atmosphere? Even he wasn't _that bad._

"You little pest!" raged Romano, "you tell me what's going on between you and my brother right now or I'll-!"

He paused, utterly gob-smacked when America reached forward and pinched his nose, adding a little "_honk!_" sound affect as she did. "Romano, Romano, Romano…just chill, 'kay? Feli's in perfectly good hands!"

Going cross-eyed looking at the offending digits on his nose, Romano looked like he was going to bite the girl's fingers off.

As if sensing this, America released her hold and pushed past the three of them, quickly making her way towards the meeting room. Before she was out of sight, she called out one last thing:

"Don't worry! I don't bite…hard!_"_

And like a volcano, Romano erupted.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

America mouthed the words to a Nicki Minaj song to herself as she made her way back to the meeting room. She wanted to find Italy so that they could get started on their epic plan, and she had to give herself a pat on the back for keeping it a secret when directly questioned about it, it wouldn't do any good if stiff old Germany found out that Italy was trying to seduce him. Though she couldn't help but send the German a little hint.

She frowned. Now that she thought about it, something bothered her about the encounter in the hallway. Regardless of what people said, she wasn't dumb, she was capable of noticing things on occasion. For one, Prussia was way too quiet and hands-offy. Usually when she talked to him, he was saying something crazy, boasting about his awesomeness or trying to grope her ghetto booty, most of the times doing all three, effectively driving his brother up the wall while slowly killing him with embarrassment. Back there, he just seemed to be watching her every move, not in a creepy creep creeper way, but in a "bug under a magnifying glass" sort of way. Also, Romano and Germany seemed to be looking at her with dislike, which wasn't unusual for Romano, who could probably find something to hate about a newborn baby, but for Germany? Very strange, indeed.

Upon reaching the meeting room, America found that all the lights had been turned off and the room was seemingly empty.

'_He's probably in his room. I must've missed him somehow in the crowd…_' she thought with a frown.

She was just about to leave the room when a noise stopped her in her tracks. Straining her ears, she listened for the sound. After a minute, she heard it again.

It was a sob.

Her inner heroine sprung into action, turning on the lights, her eyes scanned the room trying to locate the source of the sound. She didn't have to search long before her eyes locked onto a slumped figure on the floor, weeping quietly to himself.

"Feli!" America rushed forward, tossing her shoes and briefcase carelessly to the side, her super strength lodging one heel in a nearby wall. Kneeling down next to him, she quickly gathered him into his arms, cooing in sympathy as he wrapped his arms around her middle, "aww, sugar, what's wrong?"

"Ludwig's been acting so strange. He didn't want to eat dinner with me, and he always had time for me, even when he was very busy! I think he's mad at me!" he sobbed, "I don't even know what I did wrong!"

"No, Feli. You didn't do anything wrong," she reassured him, "he's probably just having an off day, I hear Germans have those often."

Italy seemed to calm down a little, "you think so?"

"Totally! It comes with not having a translatable sense of humor. He probably just needs some space," now that she thought about it, that probably explained why he acted so strange when she saw him earlier, like some sort of nationality-specific PMS. Maybe she should get him some chocolate and a hot water bottle. Though he might take it the wrong way…

America was brought out her thoughts by the loudest stomach growl she'd ever heard in her life. At first she thought that the two of them were under attack by some sort of alien monster (which would've been totally _crazy-insane_), but then she saw the look of intense hunger on Italy's face that she often saw on herself when she caught her reflection in a bakery display window.

"Hungry?" she frowned in sympathy, she knew his pain well, though on the bright side, at least he wasn't crying anymore.

He nodded, looking almost as miserable as when he had been distressed over Germany.

America tutted, helping him to his feet, "this is why you should've eaten at lunch, even though you weren't hungry," she scolded him slightly, "that's what I do all the time. I eat when I'm not hungry, cuz I know I'll be hungry later!"

"Ve, I don't think that's very healthy…" Italy mumbled quietly, most likely to himself.

"Very what?" she didn't catch the last part of what he was saying.

"Oh, nothing…"

She smirked, "you shouldn't talk to yourself, Feli, you might turn out like Arthur," she feigned horror, then giggled, relief welling in her when he offered a genuine laugh in return. She picked up her heels (struggling a bit to get the one stuck in the wall) and briefcase, then straightened up to look at him. She wasn't really good at cheering people up when they were upset, but food always made her feel better, and Italy looked awfully hungry, "do you wanna go get some dinner with me?"

"Eh…"

"_Ooh!_" she bounced a little, excitement blooming on her face, "we should get some pizza! Being around you is giving me some _serious_ cravings for Italian food."

"Umm…"

"_Awesome!_" Italy had an odd expression on his face, she figured it must be the hunger, "but I can't stand to be in this stuffy suit anymore, so how 'bout we go get changed and regroup in 20 minutes?"

"Well, I-"

"Okay, then! It's a plan!" she shifted her shoes into the same hand as the briefcase and grabbed the crook of his arm, "come, Robin, to the Batcave!"

Before he could say anything she dragged him helplessly towards the elevators.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

"That hotdog hag!" Romano seethed. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, as if he wished to strangle someone, mainly one blond American girl.

Prussia snorted, "_'hotdog-hag?_' Well, you get points for alliteration."

"Fuck off!"

"You call that a comeback? Face it, you just can't handle the awesome me!"

"You beer bastard!"

Germany remained silent as his brother continued to egg on the angry Italian. The more he observed America, the harder it was to deny that she and Italy were together. Then she had winked at him, was she toying with him? And about what? More and more questions seemed to be bubbling up inside of him, as well as hidden truths that were getting harder and harder to deny.

"Are you listening to me, you potato bastard?" Romano shouted.

Germany blinked, "was?"

"What do you know about that stupid American and my brother? He tells you everything, what did he tell you?" Ah. So that was why he'd been spying on them earlier, he wanted to see what they knew. Romano stared at Germany expectantly, and he could only stare back, the usual feeling of extreme irritation that came with the presence of the other man creeping up inside of him.

"I-"

"For Christ's sake, he doesn't know anything because there's nothing to know!" said Prussia, growing annoyed, "those two aren't a couple, and the awesome me is going to prove it to both of you!"

The albino man looked slightly manic in that moment. He put one hand on Germany's shoulder and the other on Romano's, "okay, ladies, time to call a truce, I'm not about to deal with the two of you bitching at each other all the time."

Germany sighed, knowing that his brother would only be more of a nuisance if he said no. Feeling a headache coming on he nodded, "very well then, a truce."

To their surprise, Romano agreed, albeit with a huff and an irritated crossing of his arms, "fine, but you're still a potato bastard."

Germany raised an eyebrow, he must really dislike America to agree to a truce with _him_.

"Why do you hate America so much?" Prussia asked, voicing Germany's curiosity. Nasty as he was towards the male countries, he was usually almost civil towards America and even polite with other female countries.

The Italian stared at them as if it were obvious, "she will corrupt my brother's fine taste in food."

Prussia and Germany immediately understood. As much as Romano despised Germany, when it came between him and America, Germany had the better taste in food.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

"Do you mind?" Britain glared over his shoulder at the Frenchman lounging on his bed, staring at him while he got dressed.

France looked up for a moment before flashing a smile, "oh non, I do not mind. Actually, I quite like the view~"

Britain growled, "that's not what I meant, you bloody frog pervert! Stop watching me while I get dressed!" after a beat, "wait a minute, how the bloody hell did you get into my room?"

Another lecherous grin, "you should know by now Arthur that the strength of our friendship conquers any locked door."

"More like the strength of your _sexual_ _deviance_…" Britain grumbled, but continued undressing and redressing as quickly as possible.

"Now, now, Arthur, we can talk about my boundless love and affection later," France tilted his head to get a better view of the other man's bottom, "right now we must talk about your failure of a love life."

"What about it?" the Briton asked before catching himself, sputtering violently and snapping out, "**MY** **LOVE LIFE IS NOT A FAILURE!**"

"If it is not a failure, then why do you not have that loudmouth on your arm?" France asked.

Britain froze, one arm pushed through a casual button-up shirt.

France sat up, leaning forward for effect, "why am I on your bed and not her, hmm?"

Tossing a glare over his shoulder, Britain, buttoned up the shirt, tucked it in his trousers and turned around. He crossed his arms, "well for one thing, you're in here without my permission, and for another, America's with Italy now, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Mmm, I beg to differ, mon ami," France ran a hand through his silky hair before rising from the bed, "I've known you for a very long time, and if memory serves, there was a time in your life that when you wanted something bad enough, you took it."

Britain stared, arms dropping to his side. His large eyebrows furrowed, "you're suggesting I take her by force?"

"Non, not with _force!_ With _l'amour!_" France cried. He marched forward, taking the man by the shoulders, shaking him a bit, "seduce the girl! Sweep her off her feet! Make her feel like no one has made her feel before!"

They stared at each other.

"Why are you helping me?" Britain cast him a suspicious glance.

Raising his delicate eyebrows in surprise and hurt, France let his arms drop from Britain's shoulders, "oh, Arthur! To suggest that my intentions are not pure! Does our friendship mean nothing to you?"

Britain raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms impatiently.

Letting his act drop, France merely shrugged, "well, if you must know, there is a betting pool going around amongst the nations, and I've put a decent amount of money on the two of you getting together within the decade."

Britain gaped, and then exploded, "**YOU WANKER! HOW- BLOODY- WHEN DID- ARRGHHHH!**"

Words failing him, he simply glared.

France rolled his eyes, "enough dilly-dally, let's go find something edible, oui?"

He walked out the door, taking Britain's key card and wallet with him. The Briton sulkily followed suit, making sure to turn off the light and shut the door behind him.

"I hate you," grumbled Britain, "so bloody much right now."

"Who? Me?"

Britain and France looked up, America and Italy stared back.

"Ciao, Britain, big brother France!" Italy said cheerily.

They all exchanged polite greetings, except for Britain, who remained silent. France couldn't help but smirk as he watched Britain's cheeks go slightly pink, openly staring at America's attire. The girl was wearing a sleeveless, sweetheart neck-lined dress fashioned after the design of her flag and blue flats. The ensemble showed a great deal of tanned leg and just the right amount of cleavage to be enticing while still being classy. The Frenchman was very tempted to remind Britain of the location of America's eyes.

"A-Allison," the man finally stuttered out, frowning a bit.

"That's my name!" the girl quipped, striking a pose, "wassup, Artie?"

"It's Arthur, not Artie, Allison. Say my name properly or don't say it at all," Britain snapped at the mention of his most hated nickname.

America frowned, stepping back a little at the intense reaction, "well, sheesh, sorry," she seemed used to the treatment, though, for the playful smile quickly returned to her face.

France slung an arm around the Briton, as if to rein him in, it would do no good for the man to lash out at the object of his affections. He pulled him close, "Arthur and I were just heading out to dinner."

Something strange flashed in America's eyes, and she looked at them oddly. France raised an eyebrow.

Oblivious, Italy perked up at the mention of dinner, "ve, we are, too!" he seemed to think for a moment, then smiled brightly, "you should come with us! Good food always goes great with good company!"

Returning to her normal self, America beamed brightly, "yeah!" she linked arms with Italy, "we were about to go get some pizza! Wanna come with?"

Britain began shaking his head, but France cut in, "of course! We'd be delighted, wouldn't we, Arthur?"

He tightened his hold on the Briton, indicating that he should agree. Britain simply stared at him questioningly before turning to the other two, "right."

France smirked in triumph, while America and Italy rejoiced.

"Alright!" cheered America, "I know this great place real close to here. Y'all will love it, scout's honor!"

Italy laughed lightly as she presented them with a Girl Scout salute. France smiled politely, "why don't the two of you go ahead? I must discuss something with Arthur, we'll meet you in the lobby."

The look was back in America's eyes, "if you say so…" she said slowly, "c'mon, Feli…"

Italy simply smiled, and followed her to the nearest elevator.

Once they were gone, France released his hold on Britain and smacked him upside the head.

"_Ow!_ What was that for-"

"_Idiot!_" France growled, "if you intend to woo the girl, you will get nowhere if you let your anger get in the way!"

Britain didn't look like he liked getting scold by France all that much, but he remained silent, and to his credit looked a little guilty.

France continued, "now, I am subjecting myself to poorly made, greasy, American food for your sake! So you better not waste this time with her! You understand?"

As ridiculous as it sounded, by willingly agreeing to eat pizza, France was making a great sacrifice, and Britain seemed to understand this. He nodded.

France nodded in return, "good," he patted the man on the arm, "now, chin up! It is time to turn on the charm! Would you like a rose to give to her?"

Presented with a rose pulled out of seemingly nowhere, Britain looked more than a little disturbed.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

As soon as the elevator door closed, and the button for the ground floor was pushed, America turned to Italy, a troubled expression on her face.

"Dude, do you think France and Arthur are…_you know_," she shifted uncomfortably.

"Ve?" Italy blinked, not understanding.

"You _know_…" she did this odd shoulder movement then flicked her hands in his direction a couple times, making a odd, complicated hand signs, "do you think they're…_doing it?_"

"Oh…" Italy frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "I don't think so…what makes you say that, Allison?"

"I mean, they came out of the same room together!" she nervously ran a hand through her short, blond hair, "and then France was all touchy feely with him. And usually Arthur's all" she then put on an incredibly fake and most likely very offensive British accent "_bloody_ hands off! I'm a _bloody_ prude who doesn't _bloody_ appreciate _bloody_ public displays of _bloody_ affection! _London Rage! Tea and crumpets!_" her voice returned to normal and she turned to Italy, looking worried and more than a little frantic, "but he was just _fine_ with it! And then France was all," this time it was a more intentionally offensive French accent, "_honhonhon!_ You go ahead while I do pervy French things to poor defenseless Arthur! _Honhonhon!_"

All this was said in a rush. America stood, panting heavily, while Italy watched on with concern. Suddenly, the girl lurched forward, and grabbed the man by the shoulders.

"_Veeeeeee~!_"

"**I'M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!**"

Arriving at their floor, the elevator door opened, revealing Switzerland and Liechtenstein.

America and Italy turned their heads to look at them. America's hair was everywhere, a crazed look in her eyes and Italy still in her grasp. Italy was near tears, a white flag held high in the air.

Silence.

Switzerland cleared his throat, "come along, we'll take the stairs."

He quickly led the girl away, hand clamped firmly around her wrist. Liechtenstein began to look back at the pair in the elevator, but Switzerland stopped her, "don't make eye contact."

America and Italy straightened, walking out of the elevator and into the spacious lobby of the center.

"Well, that was awkward," mumbled America. She then groaned, "_crap!_ I forgot to tell them that a gay baby was born!"

Italy smiled confusedly, choosing not to say anything as the girl went about fixing her hair, "ve, Allison…"

"Yeah?" she turned to face him, her hands dropping to her sides.

He took her hands in his, raising them up in between them, "I wouldn't worry so much about big brother France," she'd done so much to comfort him and help him with his romantic troubles, it was time he did the same, "he's never been one to focus his attention on one person, and I'm sure if you try hard enough, Britain will see you for the wonderful person you are and fall for you in no time at all!"

America seemed to soak all this in then smiled, "_yeah!_ I just need to step my game up, is all!"

Italy smiled in return, "that's the spirit! Ve, after dinner we'll look at the magazine and get to work, what do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" America beamed at him, "thanks, Feli, you're such a sweetie."

"That's what friends are for!" said the man proudly.

"Aww, Feli," her smile turned sweet and grateful, "Imma hug you now. Come here."

Italy laughed, disentangling their hands and holding his arms wide open, welcoming the girl's warm, and a little bit too tight, embrace. The two stayed like that for a while until the sound of a clearing throat brought them back to the present.

They looked up to see Britain and France standing before them. Britain seemed to be looking at Italy with dislike, but the more time the brunette spent in the Briton's presence, the more he was beginning to think that the man was just constantly grumpy.

"Hey guys!" chirped America, letting go of Italy, "ready to go?"

Britain said nothing, so France spoke up, "of course! Lead the way, America."

Italy caught the glint of determination in America's blue eyes as she regarded the two older men before them. He smiled fondly. She wasn't going to let anyone else sweep Britain off his feet but her.

"Alright then!" she clapped her hands together eagerly, "let's go!"

It was then that Italy remembered that he was going in for another round of American food.

He felt like crying.

.-._Hetalia_.-.

"This is _illegal_."

"And you're a _killjoy_, West, yet we still keep you around," stated Prussia, "hey, Luigi, you done yet?"

"Fuck off, beer bastard! This is harder than it looks!" growled Romano.

The three were huddled around the door to America's hotel room. Prussia and Germany were keeping watch while Romano attempted to unlock the door. Germany was growing more and more unsure by the minute, and was very eager to voice his concerns.

"Why are we even breaking into her room in the first place?" he asked, casting an increasingly paranoid look down to each end of the hallway, looking out for any signs of another person.

"We're gonna steal America's diary," stated Prussia.

"How do you even know she keeps a diary?"

"Well she's a chick, right?" reasoned the albino man. Atop his head, Gilbird peeped as if to confirm the rhetorical question. Prussia nodded, "well chicks keep diaries."

"You keep a diary as well," Germany jabbed half heartedly.

"Psh! Well, duh! My awesomeness is too much for even me to handle! I have to document it so that my brain doesn't overload from it all!" he boasted, "_anyway_,girls always put all their emotional shit into their diaries and draw hearts everywhere and stuff. If she's _really_ doing the nasty with Italy" he got a dirty look from both Germany and Romano "then it'll be written in her diary."

Romano gave the door handle a turn, and the door opened. He stood, "there."

Germany raised his eyebrows, impressed, especially because it wasn't a regular key lock, but one that required a key card. He was about to ask the Italian just how he achieved this when Prussia pushed past him and into the room.

"What are you waiting for? Christmas? C'mon, let's do this!" said Prussia.

Romano entered the room, Germany reluctantly followed suit.

Romano and Prussia immediately went about searching for the diary in the most destructive way possible, tearing off bed covers, emptying drawers onto the floor, and just making a general mess out of the room. Germany frantically followed them, trying to put everything back to where it originally was, snapping out complaints about their carelessness the whole time.

"Damn it!" growled Romano after having properly demolished the bathroom, "I can't find it anywhere!"

"Hmm…" Prussia scratched the top of his head in confusion, careful to avoid the bird perched in his hair, "she must be especially tricky about hiding it…alright, then, time to check her suitcase!"

Germany gaped as Prussia dragged a large black suitcase from the room closet and tossed it onto the bed, "why didn't you check there first?" he sputtered out as the man started to open the case.

"Cuz chicks are always super top secret about where they keep these things," said Prussia as he and Romano began tossing clothes everywhere. He paused when he picked up a fashion magazine from near the top of the pile of clothes, before shrugging and tossing it to the side, "she must be more clever than we thought…keeping it in the most obvious-_hello~!_"

A shit-eating grin on his face, Prussia held up a bra between his thumb and index finger. It was red, white, and blue.

"She has _America themed underwear?_ Oh! Oh, that's rich!" Prussia cackled, nearly doubling over in laughter.

Romano and Germany were not impressed.

"Put that away _right now_, bruder!" commander Germany, face flushed with embarrassment, looking everything but at the bra in his brother's hand.

"Yeah, you beer bastard! And quit laughing so loud! Do you want us to get caught?" Romano hissed.

"Hey, Allison, why is your door open-?"

The three of them froze at the new voice, heads turning towards the door.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin young man with wavy blond hair, glasses, and a curl of hair, longer than the rest, hanging in front of his face. He looked like a male version of America, only his demeanor was more subdued. His whole body seemed to scream apology. At his feet was a small polar bear. A fucking polar bear.

Germany and Romano had no idea who he was, but Prussia seemed to recognize him.

"Uh, hey Birdie!" Prussia greeted uncertainly, waving at the boy. Unfortunately, the hand he used to wave with still had the girl's bra clutched in it, and the blond boy's eyes immediately trained on it.

The boy looked from the bra in Prussia's hand, to the man himself, to the state of the room, to Romano and Germany, back to the bra, back to Prussia, then to the whole picture.

Suddenly, his whole countenance seemed to change. His face darkened, his eyes disappearing behind the threatening glint of his glasses. He seemed to stand up straighter and a dark aura seemed to surround him. The polar bear at his feet growled.

"_What are you doing in my sister's room?_"

The others shivered at the boy's tone, quiet, even and as cold as the North Pole. Romano began weeping.

Prussia laughed nervously as Girlbird, sensing danger, flew off for cover, "y'see, Canada, umm, what had happened was-"

He was cut off by a hockey puck to the face. The boy, the polar bear, and a hockey stick (and God knows where he kept that hidden in a pair of jeans and a hoodie) followed soon after.

Romano screamed.

It was then that Germany and Romano were reminded just who exactly Canada was.

They wouldn't forget for a long time afterwards.

**A/N:** _Man, this took a long time to write. I kept getting distracted orz_

_In my head canon, fem!America's fond of rap and has a bit of a ghetto booty. And I keep letting my voice slip in as I write America's dialogue and partial POV orz sorry._

_So yeah, more twists in the story, and yay for ProtectiveBro!Canada. Also, I love writing for France, and writing France and Britain as frenemies. Anyone who's read through my other stories knows I have a thing for writing bromance. Yeah, no magazine tips in this chapter. I'm taking my time._

_And I'll be referring to America and Canada as girl and boy, as opposed to woman and man. They are, after all, much younger than most of the other nations._

_Later baybays!_


	3. Whineing and Dining

**Magazine Articles And Other False Facts**

**By Jetsir**

**A/N:**** Cultural Notes will now be posted in the A/N's at the end of each chapter starting with this one.**

**Chapter Three: Whine-ing and Dining**

"This…is your car?" asked Britain, a feeling of unease settling over himself, France and Italy. There wasn't anything…wrong with the car, per se. It was a fairly new model, it was clean and well maintained, and it wasn't painted any weird colors nor did it have any ridiculous attachments on it. Nothing was wrong with it except…it was…_American made._

"Yup!" said America proudly, giving the hood a sound pat, "it's my baby! Now get in, I'm hungry."

With a running start, she hopped up, slid across the vehicle's hood, and plopped down on the driver's side. She got in the car, buckled her seatbelt, and put the key in the ignition. Once she was comfortable, she looked to the others expectantly.

_American made…_

The three men looked at each other as if saying goodbye for the last time. Then, saying their prayers, they climbed into the car, Italy taking the front passenger seat, and Britain and France sliding into the back. They were surprised to see that the inside of the car was neat and organized, and the smell of fast food was nowhere to be found.

As soon as they were all settled in and buckled up, America tossed them a smile, "okay, let's go!"

She started the car, and they were immediately blasted by unbelievably loud rap music coming from the stereo. Their hands flew to their ears as America lunged forward and turned the stereo off, turning to them with a sheepish look on her face.

"Sorry," she said with a grimace, "too gangsta?"

"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Britain as soon as he could hear himself think. From beside him, France elbowed him in the side and gave him a warning look.

"Jay Z," said America, then added with a cheeky grin, "you need to get with the times, dude! All the cool kids are listening to this!"

She winked cheekily at him from her view in the rear-view mirror, and he immediately bristled. He was about to bark out a particularly scathing remark about just what he thought of rap music and what hole it could go die in when he was elbowed in the side yet again by France.

Unaware of the activity going on in the back seat, America pulled out of her parking space and began to drive them to their destination. After a few minutes, she spoke up, "y'know that reminds me, I wanna go dancing while I'm here… whaddya think, Feli? I could teach you how to Dougie!" she said with a giggle.

"Ve? Dougie? What's that?" Italy asked with a confused frown.

As America cheerfully explained to Italy the finer points of "the Dougie" which evolved into a discussion about various dance crazes, Britain and France had their own hushed conversation in the back.

"Are you _completely_ hopeless?" hissed France.

"Oh, _sod off!_" snapped Britain, struggling to keep his voice down, "you saw those two earlier! They were all over each other! How am I supposed to compete with that?"

The other man rolled his eyes, "try being nice to her for a change! Compliment her. Engage her in a conversation that does not end in a screaming match. On that note, engage her in a conversation that does not _start_ with a screaming match!"

"Well she started it!" Britain huffed.

"What are you, a new born territory now?" France raised a manicured brow.

The Briton scowled, and was about to snap out a retort when he was interrupted by America's chipper voice.

"'kay, boys! We're here!"

After a couple of tries, America successfully parallel parked on the side of the street without taking out any pedestrians or other cars. The girl jumped out of the car as soon as her seatbelt was unbuckled, with the others filing out at a much more lax pace. They took in their surroundings; the street was made up of older buildings with small shops that held even smaller businesses. While neon signs hung in several windows, there was nothing as attention grabbing as the areas that New York was more famous for. It was definitely an area that only locals would be familiar with.

Well, locals, and a certain personified nation.

"It's just across the street and a few shops down, let's go," taking a hold of Italy's hand and making sure that France and Britain stuck close to her, she rushed them across the street before a large group of cars drove through. Leading the way, she began gushing about how good the pizza place was. It was obvious that the girl was very excited about where she was taking them.

The place in question, when they approached it, seemed to be nothing special. With a title such as "New York's Best Pizza" which many other restaurants called themselves in this city, a simple sign and a white paint job, there was nothing on the outside that stood out. Yet America approached it as if she was going to see the world's greatest attraction.

"You guys are in for a real treat!" she exclaimed with a broad grin, she grabbed the door handle and pulling the door open for them.

Italy passed through the door, as did France, but Britain paused at the door and looked America in the eye.

_Complement her,_ France had said. _'Well, it couldn't hurt…'_

America frowned, "yeah?"

"Er…you…you look nice tonight," he said stiffly, breaking eye contact and looking anywhere but at her.

With a confused smile, she rubbed at the back of her neck, "oh? Well, um, thanks…" then after a beat, "ummm…you look nice, too."

Clearing his throat, he nodded, "thank you…"

They stood there looking at each other, America gave him a crooked smile, "a gay baby was just born," she mumbled.

He blinked, "what?"

She started; it seemed that she hadn't meant to say that out loud, "huh? O-oh, nothing! Why don't we go inside? Yeah? Yeah!"

With that she ushered him inside.

_-Hetalia-_

In a different part of the city, another group of nations were eating dinner. Though their meal was much more unpleasant and uncomfortable.

At least for three of them.

After beating the hell out of Germany, Romano, and Prussia, Canada had immediately reverted back to his old, gentle self. Feeling immensely bad for the damage he'd caused to their faces and other essential body parts, he'd offered to take them out for pancakes to make up for it.

The people in the diner hadn't even batted an eyelash when three grown men nursing serious bruises walked in with a teenage boy carrying a small polar bear, and the battered trio had to wonder what that said for the area that they'd been lead into. Canada had assured them that the place was alright and that he'd been there before with America.

That statement did nothing to put them at ease.

The four of them took a seat in a booth. Not wanting to sit next to the cause of their pain, Germany, Romano, and Prussia had squeezed in together on one side as Canada and his bear settled in on the other and ordered them all pancakes. Romano currently had his head on the table, muttering to himself about "stupid maple-hockey-bastards and their psycho midget bears", Germany sat looking uncomfortable, and Prussia was trying to make Canada feel as bad as possible.

"Dammit, Birdie, that hurt like a bitch!" grumbled Prussia, holding an ice pack to his swelled up eye.

Canada tossed him an apologetic glance, "I said I was sorry…" he mumbled, holding his bear tighter in his grip. In his hair sat Gilbird, whose survival instincts told him that this was currently the safest place to perch. Prussia had never felt more betrayed in his life.

"Yeah? Well _sorry_ won't fix my face, you crazy bastard!" Romano growled, lifting his head to toss the Canadian a scowl. Out of the three of them, he'd taken the least damage, having gone into fetal position the second he was struck. Only one bruise marred his face, one bruise too many if he had anything to say about it.

"And where the hell did all that ass kicking come from?" asked Prussia, "since when are you so protective of America?"

Canada sighed, playing with his bear's ear, "well, I know _America_ can take care of herself, but _Ally_ is my sister, and I'll help her out if I can, which means that if someone breaks into her room and steals her underwear while she's not there to stop it, _I will._"

His glasses glinted dangerously and the others cringed. Their waitress came by and put pancakes down in front of them. Canada immediately brightened up, handing the top cake to his bear and reaching for the syrup. The trio relaxed.

Scratching at the back of his neck, Prussia stated cautiously, "well, in our defense, we weren't stealing her underwear…"

Canada lifted up the container of the diner's syrup and frowned, whether it was at the syrup or Prussia, they couldn't tell, "then…what _were_ you doing?"

Germany coughed into his hand and shifted uncomfortably, "we were…looking for America's diary," he looked more than a little guilty.

Canada gave them a disbelieving look, "and you thought that you'd find her diary in her bra."

"Don't look at _me!_" hissed Romano, "blame that perverted beer-bastard!"

The Italian pointed towards the other man who raised his hands in a placating gesture, "hey, come on! They were_ starred and striped!_ You don't see West over here wearing _his_ flag on his junk!"

That comment earned him a harsh elbow in the side.

The boy still didn't look too happy with them, he looked even more unhappy when he gave the diner's syrup a sniff. Setting it to the side, he pulled a flask out of one of his pockets, unscrewed the cap, and poured its contents onto his pancakes.

"You…" Prussia squinted to make sure he was seeing things correctly, "you carry around maple syrup in a _flask?_"

Looking up, Canada smiled sheepishly, "I, um, never leave home without it, eh?"

Silence.

Shifting uncomfortably, Canada steered the conversation back on track, "why do you need her diary?"

"Aha!" exclaimed Prussia, "I knew it! She does have a diary!" and with that, he began to do a seated victory dance.

Germany cut in before they could be taken off track again, "we were trying to determine what her…erm, _intentions_ were concerning Italy."

Looking away from Prussia elbowing an extremely irritated Romano in the shoulder repeatedly as he did the Cabbage Patch, Canada nodded slowly, "I see...and _why_ is this so important?"

Germany remained silent.

Realizing that they were talking to the girl in question's brother, Prussia paused in his dance and leaned forward, "you wouldn't happen to know anything about what's going on between those two, would you?"

Pausing to think for a minute, the blond shook his head and the other three sighed, disappointed.

"Now we'll never know why that hotdog hag suddenly decided to corrupt my brother's good taste!" growled Romano.

Canada frowned at the obvious insult towards his sister, "well…what makes you think I like your brother hanging around her?"

There was a pause.

Forgetting that the boy in front of him was the same boy that kicked their collective asses a mere hour ago, the Italian man attempted to launch himself over the table at him, only to be held back by Germany, "why you little maple-bastard! How dare you- **LET GO OF ME YOU POTATO-BASTARD!**"

They were eventually able to get Romano to calm down, but they were kicked out of the diner in the process. Now in the dark, but still busy, streets of New York, they continued their discussion.

"Say, Birdie…" Prussia began, slinging an arm around the boy, "you should help us."

Canada attempted to lean out of the man's grasp, "what makes you say that?"

"For one, I'm awesome, and honestly that should be the only reason you need. Two, seeing as you beat the living hell out of us earlier, I think you owe us. Three," he leaned in close, Canada going cross-eyed looking at him, "you can't tell me that you're not _at all_ curious what your sister's up to and why she wouldn't tell you."

"W-well, it's not like she tells me everything, anyways…" he reasoned, again trying to get out of the man's grasp, but finding it impossible to do so.

"Come _on_, Birdie!" Prussia didn't whine, for he was too awesome to do so, "what happened to all that Canadian kindness and shit? We're in need of your help here!"

That seemed to have struck a chord. Canada looked to the side, thinking. They'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, Prussia, Germany, and Romano waiting with bated breaths. Canada had already confirmed the existence of America's diary, and being her brother, he'd be their best bet of getting their hands on it. If, that is, he was willing to help them.

He looked up, "Ally does have a diary, but she never takes it to things like conferences, she says they're too boring to write about. It's at her house… I'll try to help you get it."

Prussia let out a loud whoop of triumph as Romano and Germany released the breaths they'd been holding.

"_But_," he continued, "you have to go tell Ally that you broke into her room first."

"What!" shouted Prussia, "oh, come on!"

"That's bullshit!" cried Romano.

"For once, I agree with them," said Germany. Though he did feel rather guilty about breaking into the girl's room and did wish to apologize for it, it would defeat the purpose of recruiting Canada to find her diary if she already knew that they were looking for it. There was also a small part of him that didn't want to see Italy's reaction when he found out about what they'd done.

Canada just shook his head, "just tell her you were chasing down a ghost. She'll understand."

They all stared. Canada burst into random bouts of warrior-level ass-kicking and carried around maple syrup in a flask. America wore her flag on her underwear and thought ghost-hunting to be a reasonable excuse to break into a room and ransack it. Just what the hell was in the drinking water in North America?

He shifted under their stares, hugging his bear closer, "the important thing is that you apologize."

Reluctantly, they agreed.

Canada smiled softly, readjusting his hold on his animal friend, "great! We'd better head back then, eh?"

The others shifted nervously. Canada had beaten the crap out of them when he'd caught them breaking into his sister's room. What would America do when they confessed to the crime?

_-Hetalia-_

The inside of the restaurant was very homey. Its walls were covered in pictures documenting the establishment's history, the tables were spaced out rather nicely and decorated tastefully, the overall atmosphere of the place was warm and welcoming.

The four were seated, America and Italy on one side and France and Britain on the other, by a young waitress with a big smile.

"Here're your menus, can I start you off with something to drink?"

They placed their orders and the waitress set off to fetch them their drinks.

As soon as they were left to their own devices, Italy stood, "I'm going to go look at the pictures on the wall!" he chirped as he bounded off.

"I think I shall, too," France said, rising from his seat. As he walked away from the table he cast Britain a meaningful look, and gestured discretely to America who remained completely oblivious.

Once they were alone, the Briton cleared his throat, "so…"

America looked at him and after he didn't say anything, she nodded stiffly, "yup…"

Britain played with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to think of something to say, "er, this place seems…nice."

She brightened, "yeah, I love it here. I had my first slice of pizza here when it opened in the 20's, and the business is still in the family."

Britain gave a soft smile that quickly turned into a frown once he caught sight of France trying to cop a feel on Italy, "hopefully that bloody frog won't ruin the nice atmosphere."

America turned around in her seat to look at the Frenchman who had turned his attention to a much more interested table full of giggling teenage girls. He was now in the process of handing each of them a red rose. She turned back to Britain, "well, hopefully he'll be able to contain himself. It'd be a bummer if he got me kicked out of here when I've been this joint's most loyal customer."

The two shared a laugh at that.

Britain, feeling more at ease, was now looking directly at America with more focus than he had the entire night. She really _did_ look good in that dress, as narcissistic as it was, but quite honestly, she just looked good in general to him. How her eyes lit up when she smiled... The dimple that only made its appearance when she laughed really hard... The cute little mole on her collar bone…

"Artie? _Helloooo!_ Artie are you there? Earth to Arthur Kirkland, do you copy?"

Shaking himself out of his daze and blushing furiously once he realized his eyes had been travelling downwards with purpose towards the girl's chest, he looked up to meet America's concerned gaze, "huh? What?"

"I asked if you were feeling alright…" she stated cautiously, giving him a rather odd look.

Paling slightly and eyes shifting around, he barked out a nervous laugh, "o-of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

America raised an eyebrow, "well, for one thing, you totally spaced out on me there, dude. And another, you've been acting all weird this entire night. I mean, you've been totally _nice_ to me! I called you Artie, like, two times a second ago and you didn't bite my head off for it!"

Now it was Britain's turn to raise an eyebrow, "you would rather I _wasn't_ nice to you?"

She let out a laugh and shook her head, "no, I guess not… It's just…I worry about you sometimes, me being the hero and all..."

She smiled at him. Not one of her super confident, full of energy smiles, but a serious one, with warmth and affection and _maybe_ just a hint of shyness.

Britain felt his heart melt.

He looked down at America's hand resting on the table, just within reach or his own. He gulped and looked up into the girl's eyes as he reached over, "Allison, I-"

"Here're your drinks!" exclaimed their waitress as she approached their table.

Britain's hands retreated from the table and onto his lap so fast he was certain that he almost broke a wrist in the process.

America thanked the waitress and requested some more time to look over their menus. The girl nodded and left.

"So…" said America, turning back to Britain, "you were saying?"

Judging by the wide, yet blank, grin on the girl's face, it was obvious to the Briton that whatever moment the two of them shared a mere minute ago, the American had been _completely_ oblivious to her part in it.

Whatever confidence he'd had then, it was gone now and Britain attempted to blow it off, "oh nothing! I was just wondering what was taking the frog and Italy so long…"

"Huh, I dunno…" America twisted around in her seat to look for their companions.

Britain noted that France was still working his charms on the girls who by this point were practically melting in puddles of goo under his attention. It then reminded him that he still had the rose that the Frenchman had given to him earlier. Fishing it out of the pocket of his slacks, he noted with a bit of a frown that the stem was bent and some of the petals were crumpled. Just how on Earth was France able to carry around multiple flowers on his person without damaging a single one of them? Some form of dark magic, he was sure of it…

He looked to America and then back to the rose. It wasn't in _too bad_ of a condition…

"A-allison," he said, calling her attention back to him. He presented the rose to her before he lost his nerve, "here."

America looked at the flower with wide eyes and gently plucked it from his grasp. She stared at it in awe, a light blush forming on her cheeks. She turned her bright blue eyes to him, "this is for _me?_"

Fidgeting in his seat and unsure of what to say under her starry-eyed stare, Britain immediately turned to his greatest defense mechanism: irritability.

"W-well," he started, looking off to the side with a huff, "that stupid Francis gave it to me, and it's not like _I_ had any use for it…"

"So _Francis_ gave this to you…"

At her tone, he looked back at her. She looked…disappointed, maybe? Or was he just being hopeful? "Well…"

"Thanks, man!" and suddenly her typical megawatt smile was back on her face as if nothing had happened, "you know I wish I was closer to my house right now so I could get this thing in a vase, but I guess a paper cup of water at the hotel room will have to do for now!"

She giggled and he blinked, having nothing to say to the sudden burst of energy.

"I'm gonna go get the guys so that they have some time to order! Be right back!"

With that, she left the table, leaving Britain to wonder what the hell just happened.

_-Hetalia-_

"Big Brother?" said Liechtenstein.

"Hmm?" murmured Switzerland as he stared off into space.

The two nations were seated at a small café near the hotel. At the moment they were the only customers there. It was quiet and calm, just how they liked it.

"What is it like to be in a relationship?" the girl asked.

The man was quiet for a moment, then answered, "tiring and uncomfortable. You could also get a disease."

A pause.

"Oh, okay. I was just wondering," she said and turned back to her soup.

And all was good.

_-Hetalia-_

As Italy and France returned to the table, America did her best to hide her crushing disappointment.

'_**Francis**_ _gave it to him, of course he did…_' she sighed inwardly, though she kept a smile on her face the entire time. She couldn't believe she'd let her hopes get up like that. _Of course _France would be the one to supply Britain with a rose, probably as a gift to represent their affections for each other, and Britain, needlework and imaginary friends aside, wasn't camp enough to be down with that, so he decided to give it to her because, hey, boobs equals "OMG! I luv flowerz!" right?

It seemed that she'd found herself some competition in the Nation of Love. She watched over the top of her menu as France pulled Britain aside to have a hushed discussion away from their table. She felt her chest tighten as Britain's face flushed in reaction to something the other man said. She pulled her menu up closer to her face and frowned. She was positive that she could take the Frenchman in a fight. Hell, if she so much as raised a fist in his general direction, she was sure the man would steal one of Italy's white flags and run for cover. But in a fight for someone's heart? What with his natural charm and admittedly sweet ass, she wasn't so sure.

America took a deep breath and allowed a cheerful smile to return to her face. She was getting upset, but she wasn't about to let anyone in on it, if Italy saw that her hopes were down, then his hopes would go down, and what kind of heroine would that make her? A crappy one. Just like Batman from All Star Batman and Robin, or Superman in the 70's…

'_No,'_ she thought, _'I just have to step my game up, just like I told Feli earlier. Later tonight, we'll look through that magazine, find the key to getting our men, and then we'll all ride off into the sunset on majestic steeds and live happily ever after! Actually, on second thought, horses are kinda lame…make that majestic motorcycles! With an explosion going off in background all in slow-mo! Oh hells yeah this is gonna be awesome! If I can pull it off…I hope I can pull it off…'_

While America was busy with her own thoughts, and Italy was looking through the menu choices, France took it upon himself to interrogate Britain about what had happened while he was absent from the table.

"I see you gave her the rose," the Frenchman observed in a whisper once they were away from the others, "how did that go?"

"Er…" Britain frowned. Honestly, he didn't know.

France groaned, "of course _you_ would be the one to mess up the _simplest_ display of l'amour…"

"Oi!" his face turned red and he struggled to keep his voice down.

"Look, monami," said France, leaning in closer and looking the Briton dead in the eye, "you love her, oui?"

He nodded, blushing even harder.

"And you want to be with her."

Another nod.

"Then you must find a way to break through these barriers you have placed around your emotions and express them!" then, after a quick survey of his person, "and perhaps a trim to the eyebrows as well…"

That earned him a kick in the shin.

"You brute!" the Frenchman hissed, but composed herself, "but do you understand what I am saying?"

Britain sighed, "_yes_…"

"Good," he smiled, and gave the other man a pat on the back, "now let us return to our dining companions and order some disgusting American food…"

They both shuddered at the thought.

Seconds after the two men took their seats, their waitress came to take their orders.

"Okay, so are you guys ready to order?"

"Ah, yes," said America, closing her menu, "two pepperoni pizzas! Oh! And a side order of mozzarella sticks!"

Italy pouted while Britain and France downright scowled. They felt offended that America would order for all of them without asking what they wanted first.

Then she turned to them with a bright smile as the waitress wrote down the order, "so, what are you guys having?"

They all just stared.

Eventually, Italy, France and Britain settled on sharing a cheese pizza, and when the food arrived, they had to admit it did smell kind of good.

America looked as if Christmas had come early as she dug into her own meal.

The three men looked at each other, silently praying that someone else would take the first bite so that they could gauge their reaction before doing so themselves.

Surprisingly, it was Italy who reached for the pizza first, for he had missed out on lunch earlier and was hungry enough to eat anything…well, maybe not _anything_, he definitely wasn't hungry enough to take on British food, though he wasn't about to say that in the presence of the other nation.

The Italian reached forward and picked up a slice. He examined it carefully. Well, it looked like the stuff he made at home, and he _was_ hungry… With Britain and France watching with bated breaths, he leaned forward, opened his mouth, and-

"Feli, _no!_" America exclaimed, and suddenly, Italy found himself lacking slice of pizza.

Three pairs of stunned eyes turned towards the America who held Italy's slice of pizza almost protectively, an utterly scandalized look on her face.

"What?" the man asked.

The girl leaned forward, "are you trying to get _shanked?_" she whispered, horrified.

"Um…I-I don't understand," he said, frowning and terribly afraid that he'd just broken a law with how serious the girl was acting.

"You have to fold it in half first," she said gesturing to the pizza in her hand.

"Oh," he said, nodding, "I'm sorry, Allison, I didn't know."

Her eyes softened, "that's okay, Feli. Just don't do it again, okay?"

Italy nodded, "okay, I promise!"

She smiled, then folded the slice of pizza in half for him, "here, say ahhhhh!"

He did as he was told and America fed him his first slice of American made pizza. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, "not bad…actually, it's kind of good!" It definitely wasn't as good as true, Italian pizza, but it wasn't as bad as the hotdog he'd tried to stomach earlier, either.

America smiled wider, and deeming Italy capable of eating the food correctly, handed him his slice and returned to her own food. Britain and France, seeing that Italy hadn't keeled over, picked up slices of their own and, making sure they folded them in half, began to eat as well.

They ate in silence for a while, the men trying not to openly stare at the impressive speed in which America was consuming her food. They didn't know what surprised them more, the fact that she wasn't choking or the fact that she wasn't making a mess of herself.

After a while, France spoke up, "you know, Amérique, I still fail to understand why you do not find enjoyment in fancier dining establishments and instead chose the service of fast food restaurants."

America paused in her eating. She then chewed and swallowed before shrugging, "I dunno…I guess I'm too boorish for boujy joints like that…"

"_Boorish?_" France repeated with a raised brow.

"Yes, boorish," at the Frenchman's amused look, America sighed, "yeah, surprising as it is, I do know what that word means. I've been called it since I was a little girl, so it's kinda hard not to…"

Everyone was stunned into silence at the seriousness in the girl's tone. America sat there quietly, looking off to the side, lost in her own thoughts and obviously upset.

France frowned, he'd only meant to tease the girl a bit, he didn't think that he would hurt her feelings, "Amérique, I apologize. I did not mean to offend-"

"No, it's alright, Francis," she said flatly, not looking at him, "_really_, don't worry about it…"

She returned to her food, obviously not interested in continuing the conversation, the others reluctantly did the same.

All except for Britain. He too was lost in his own thoughts.

"_There, Allison. Now you look like a proper English lady, instead of-"_

"_Instead of what, Arthur? One of those __**boorish colonials?**__ Well too bad, because I am one!"_

"_Now, see here, young lady-"_

"_Just leave me alone, Arthur!"_

_-Hetalia-_

"You hear America's dating Italy?"

"Yeah! I heard Romano's raising hell about it…"

"Hahah! Yeah, that guy's a little firecracker!"

"Speaking of Romano…did you see him hanging around with that kid, earlier?"

"What kid?"

"The tall, lanky one. America's twin brother. I saw them leaving the hotel together to get dinner, they were with Germany and Prussia, too, but I don't know…"

"Her brother? Wow, looks like Italy's not the only one in the family robbing the cradle! And from the same cradle at that!"

"Yeah, it seems that everyone's hooking up today."

"I know what you mean. You know, a little while ago I saw Britain and France come out of the same room together! And France was looking pretty happy with himself!"

"_No way!_"

"Hey! What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, you _have_ to hear this…"

And the rumor mill continued on and on…

_-Hetalia-_

This wasn't good.

Italy had sensed that something was wrong with Allison once he'd returned to the table. His concern only increased after her brief exchange with France. Now that they'd finished eating and were on the road once again, America had returned to her normal self.

Or so it seemed.

Now he may not have been the best at reading the atmosphere, but with someone as open with their emotions as America, he didn't have to be. Italy knew that his friend was upset. He had no idea what had happened while they were eating, and made sure to remember to ask her about it later, but judging by the looks she'd been sending Britain and France the entire evening, he had a feeling he knew at least _part_ of the reason why she was so unhappy.

'_Big Brother France has been getting really close with Britain lately…'_ he mused, _'poor Allison…'_

It made him think of his own situation with Germany. He cared for the blond man so much, and now that he was mad at him, he didn't know what to do. He could only hope that the magazine would give them proper guidance.

'_It'll be okay, Allison,'_ Italy thought and with his heart, he tried to will those words to the girl sitting behind the wheel.

Once they reached a red light, he looked over and sent her the brightest smile he could muster. America looked over and smiled back.

But it didn't reach her eyes.

_-Hetalia-_

"And you are _sure_ that that excuse will work on her," Prussia clarified for what had to be the tenth time in just as many minutes. It wasn't that he didn't think he could take America should she be angry with what they'd done. He was just…worried for the girl's safety should he have to defend himself from her angry attack. He wasn't sure if he could hold back all of his awesome strength, yeah, that was it. Totally…

"_Yes_, I'm sure," said Canada with a hint of exasperation as the four of them made their way through the halls of the hotel to America's room.

"…but just _how sure_ is that-?"

"Would you shut the fuck up, you beer bastard!" hissed Romano, "now I'm not sure if I want to go through with this!"

"Well, we don't have much of a choice," said Germany, pointing ahead of them, "there's her room and there's America."

The quartet paused. Sure enough, America, joined by Italy, France and Britain, was walking up to her room, fishing through her purse for her key card.

Canada tensed, "_oh no_…"

"What? What do you mean oh no?" asked Romano, clinging to the boy's sleeve. He tried to sound irritated, but came off more as scared.

"She's in a bad mood…" stated Canada, tightening his grip on his bear.

"No she's not," said Prussia, "look, she's smiling."

"No,_ trust me_, she's in a bad mood," he turned to the three of them with a nervous look in his eyes, and they couldn't help but become nervous themselves. He let out a small, shaky laugh, "maybe this apologizing thing isn't such a good idea, eh? We should go…"

"Canada," Germany frowned. The boy had been dead set on having them apologize, and now he wanted them to just leave? "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

But he soon would.

"So!" said America with a smile as she approached her hotel room, key in hand, "that was fun, wasn't it?"

Her companions voiced their agreement. Italy, trying to cheer the girl up, began gushing about how delicious the food had been and how nice the waitress was and how wonderful the restaurant was.

He stopped short when he heard America's surprised gasp.

America had just put her key card in the lock when she noticed that her door was already slightly open. Immediately on guard, she pushed the door the rest of the way open and stood completely shocked at the sight before her.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"_Mon_ _Dieu_…"

"Bloody hell!"

"A-allison! Your room!"

Ignoring the other's exclamations of surprise, America slowly walked into the room, her eyes taking in the clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, the drawers pulled out of the dresser, their contents dumped out, the curtains torn down…

What a complete mess.

Hands at her sides, shoulders slumped, her head constantly shaking in disbelief, she stood there in the middle of the wreckage and just took in the scene.

Italy, France and Britain stood there, watching America with concern. They barely acknowledged it when Germany, Prussia, Romano and Canada hesitantly joined them at their spot in the doorway.

Britain took in America's crushed posture and felt the sudden urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. France had told him that he needed remove his barriers when it concerned his feelings for America, and now was as good a time as any.

He took a step into the room and spoke softly, "Allison…"

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me!"

The girl's sudden angered shout caused the group at the door to jump slightly, the Italies cowering in fear. Britain unconsciously backed up.

"Motherfucker…" America practically growled as she marched into the bathroom to check to see if the criminals who'd ransacked her room were still there, "any other day… _any other day_ someone coulda pulled this shit, but no… it had to be _today_… some bullshit… what the _fuck!_"

She stalked back and forth in the middle of the room like a caged animal before turning sharply and charging out of the door, the others giving her wide berth.

America caught sight of Canada and turned to him, "Matt!"

The boy flinched. Kumajirou wiggled his way out of his master's arms and ran for cover, "cover" being anywhere but there. Gilbird flew off of Canada's head and took off after the polar bear as he made his escape. Without the comfort of his animal friend, the northern nation shook with such tremors he rivaled Latvia, "u-uh, Ally! W-what-"

"Some bitch ass mother fucker decided they could bust all up into my room and fuck with my shit," she was now speaking in a urban accent, her face was hardened with her anger, and though her voice was raised, she wasn't shouting, which was much more unsettling for everyone who was used to America yelling whenever she got worked up. "You see anything?"

Unable to find his voice, Canada shook his head.

For a moment, America entire frame trembled like a volcano ready to erupt, "_motherfucker_," she growled and then began to angrily pace the hallway outside of her room, ranting to herself.

"…think they can come into _my_ place, fuck with _my_ shit… _no one_ fucks with America, especially not in her own damn house… Lord help me, I will _cut_ somebody… the _fuck_ do they think they are?"

The rest of the group stood frozen in fear. They'd never, ever seen the girl this angry outside of war. The girl continued to pace, muttering curses and promises of vengeance under her breath. The angry vibes that were coming off of her were starting to form an aura around her person.

Germany, Prussia, and Romano exchanged nervous glances. Maybe Canada was right, now probably _wasn't_ the best time to confess to the crime.

Attempting to restore some order, Germany took a deep breath and stepped forward, "now, America, if you would just calm down, I'm sure we could-"

"_Excuse me?_" America rounded on the tall blond, her voice rising in volume, "calm down? Boy, don't you _never_ tell a woman to calm down!" she advanced on him and it took all he had in him not to be backed into the wall under her furious gaze, "keep frontin' and I swear I will _pop the trunk_ on your bitch ass!"

"Nooooo! Don't pop the trunk!" Canada shouted desperately as he flung himself in between America and her intended victim. His Canadian kindness wouldn't allow anyone to get hurt if he had the power to stop it, "please don't pop the trunk!"

No one but Canada and America knew what popping the trunk meant, but judging by Canada's horrified expression, it wasn't anything good.

Reaching behind him, Canada gently pushed Germany back a few steps until he was a suitable distance away. He then raised both of his hands cautiously in front of him and reached out to his sister, "Ally-"

"Touch me, Matt…" said America, her tone dangerously level, "and I will make us sisters. Do you understand?"

The boy pulled his hands back as if burned, and was about to say something else when a shout caused the two of them to turn.

"_**VEEEEEEEEEE!**_"

Italy, who'd been hiding behind France and Britain the entire time, couldn't take it anymore. Scary as she was being at the moment, America was his friend, and he knew that under all of that rage she was upset and was just having an off day, made worse by the fact that someone had just violated her personal space and sense of security.

So he did what he knew had to be done.

Before anyone could react, Italy rushed forward, pushing Britain and France aside, threw his arms around America's waist and buried his face into the crook of her neck, holding on for dear life.

Time froze.

"Oh God, my dumbass little brother is going to die…" whimpered Romano.

Germany tensed, fearing for the Italian's safety, and got ready to come to the man's aid.

Britain and Prussia watched on in slack-jawed horror.

Canada and France covered their eyes, though France peeked through a crack between his fingers.

America stood completely still, her body tense and her eyes still burning.

"Feli-"

Trembling a bit, Italy began to speak in a hurried ramble, "p-please Allison I know you're upset and that whoever did this is really horrible and I don't really know much about popping trunks but you're being really scary and not yourself and it's not very heroic to act like this so please please please stop and also I know you don't want to be touched right now but I didn't know what to do so please don't hurt meeeeee!"

What seemed like hours in silence passed.

Finally, America's eyes softened and slowly, her body began to relax. She wrapped her arms around Italy's neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry, Feli…" she murmered, "I didn't mean to scare you…"

They stood like that for a moment before she pulled away from the other nation and he slowly released her. She turned to the others, looking completely ashamed of herself. She looked at Germany, "I'm sorry I threatened to pop the trunk on you, that was really uncalled for."

The blond nation nodded curtly, accepting her apology. In all honesty he had no idea what half the words she'd said meant, so there truly was no harm done.

"And Matt," she turned to her brother, "I'm sorry I threatened to rip your dick off…"

The boy simply shrugged with a small, nervous smile, "don't worry about it."

America smiled, before becoming serious once again. Slowly, she walked back into her room, picking up a lamp that had been knocked over. She stared at it, "this place is completely trashed…"

"What kind of horrible person would do this?" Italy wondered.

Said horrible people shifted uncomfortably, especially Germany.

"I can't tell if they took anything…" the girl mused, picking up some things off of the floor in an attempt to tidy things up, "but I hope they did, it'll give me a reason to- _ohh!_" America had to cut herself short before she became angry again.

For the first time since her explosion, Britain spoke up, "Allison, I don't think you should stay here tonight, they might come back."

She looked at him with a look that said she hoped that they did come back so she could give them a piece of her mind, but sighed and relented, "I guess so…"

"Ohh! I know!" chirped Italy, "you can stay in my room tonight! My bed's plenty big enough for the both of us! And we can do what we talked about earlier!" he sing-songed enticingly.

And only Italy and America could be so unaware of how suggestive that sounded and how everyone else seemed to be choking on air.

"Aw, thanks, Feli!" America's trademark grin was back, and this time it was genuine, "just lemme grab a few things…"

Picking up a duffel bag off of the floor, America set about packing things. Some clothes, a magazine, her toiletries, and soon she was all set.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" America said as she closed her door. Reaching into her purse, she produced a chocolate bar which she handed to Germany, "here!"

He took the completely random gift with a puzzled expression on his face, "ah…thank you?"

She clapped him on the shoulder, "don't mention it," she then frowned, "dude, were you in a fight?"

Germany froze, "um…"

"Come to think of it, you two look worse for wear as well," observed France, looking at Prussia and Romano.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Italy, "Ludwig! Lovino! What happened to you?"

Under the curious stares of the other nations, the trio fidgeted. They couldn't think of a convincing answer.

"They, uh…fell?" Canada lied. Horribly. Right through his teeth. He felt so guilty, lying to America and everyone else so much. He just wanted the day to be over.

Surprisingly the others bought his excuse, which did nothing to make him feel better.

"Well, be careful, okay guys?" said America and the trio nodded. She then turned to Italy, "c'mon Feli, we have a long night ahead of us!"

The two linked hands, said their goodbyes, and left, practically skipping down the hallway.

The others stood there, unsure of what to do.

"What were you four doing around here, anyways?" asked France with a hint of suspicion in his tone.

"W-what? Oh nothing, Papa!" stuttered Canada, "you know, we should _really_ get going now, so I'll see you later, eh?"

With that, the boy ushered Germany, Prussia and Romano off in the other direction.

"I think they are up to something…" mused France as he turned to Britain, but he found that the other man wasn't listening for he was lost in his own thoughts.

The Frenchman sighed, "you need a drink…shall we?"

And off to the bar they went.

_-Hetalia-_

"Your sister is fucking crazy," said Romano after the four nations made their escape. They were now sitting in a corner of the hotels spacious lobby, hoping to stay away from any eyes and ears.

Canada sent him a harsh glare, but it came off as more of an irritated pout since he was still shaken by the earlier incident. The fact that he was holding onto the recently returned Kumajirou and Gilbird was back in his hair didn't help either, "don't talk about her like that. You shouldn't have broken into her room in the first place!"

"Well, what other fucking choice did I have? Just sit on my ass while she takes advantage of my stupid little brother?"

"This again? Well _your brother_ is the one that's coaxing her into his bed tonight-"

"Okay, that's enough!" Prussia cut in, "for the hundredth time, those two aren't a couple! Now quit upsetting West with your complete unawesomeness!"

They all cast a glance in Germany's direction. The blond was looking off to the side with an irritated scowl. He didn't know why, but the idea of Italy and America sharing a bed upset him, even if he did believe that they were in a relationship, regardless of what Prussia had to say about it. The pair were their own independent nations, they were free to do what they wanted, and if they were a couple and wanted to sleep in the same bed, then it was none of his concern, right?

…right?

Prussia turned from his unawesome brother and focused his attention on the even more unawesome pair in front of him, "you guys need to cut this shit out! The _entire world_ is spreading rumors about your siblings! You need to act as a team if you ever want to see an end to all of this bullshit!" honestly Prussia never thought he'd find himself acting as the peacekeeper of any group _ever_. But the incredibly satisfying looks of swallowed pride that surfaced when they realized he was right made him not question his newfound awesome ability.

"You're right…" said Canada looking sheepish and thoroughly chastised.

"Whatever…" grumbled Romano.

"That's the spirit!" Prussia grinned wolfishly, "now, it's time to plan our next move… and dammit, Mattie, I want my bird back!"

_-Hetalia-_

"Thanks for letting me stay here," said America as she dumped her belongings onto Italy's bed.

"Don't mention it!" beamed Italy, "besides, it'll be fun! Like a slumber party!"

Honestly, he was happy that America was going to be staying with him for the night. With Germany still mad at him, he wasn't sure if he'd still be welcome in the man's bed, and the thought of sleeping on his own depressed him.

"So…" started America as she rooted through her bag and pulled out the magazine, "shall we start?"

Italy nodded cheerfully and the two of them sat on the bed together, side-by-side. America flipped to their desired page and they began to read.

They paused.

"…that's a lot of tips…" said America.

"…yeah…" Italy agreed, "where do we start?"

America thought for a moment, "oh! I know! I'll close my eyes and I'll point to a random one and that's the one we'll use first!"

The man bounced in his seat, "that's a wonderful idea, Allison!"

"Okay, here goes nothing!"

Closing her eyes, America lifted her hand, index finger extended, then brought it down on the page. She opened her eyes and read:

"**34: The next time you encounter your future man, wear a sexy pair of underwear underneath your clothing, it'll make you feel sexy and daring and give you that extra boost of confidence you need!**"

They looked at each other.

"Well…" said Italy hesitantly, "the magazine knows best…"

America nodded and the two of them smiled.

"I guess we're going shopping."

**A/N: **_Great balls of fire, what the eff is this chapter orz_

_Sorry for the long wait, but I was busy with my first term of college, so yeah… but hey, this chapter is the longest chapter I've ever written, even for one-shots, so at least it's worth it? Right? Please?_

_FYI: When I can (and if I remember) I update the status of the progress of upcoming chapters and stories on my profile page, so check there if you want to know what I'm up to._

_I want to know: should I feature more pairings in this? They won't be as focused on as the two main pairings and probably won't get a resolution (in this story, anyways), but still? Also, as you've seen, I've been putting in random scenes occasionally as little breaks in the main storylines, what would you guys like to see?_

And while I'm at it (since this thing wasn't nearly long enough), here's some interesting cultural notes and other interesting tidbits relating to this chapter and the story as a whole. But don't worry, you don't really need to know these things to enjoy the story, so you can skip over it if you want and go straight to reviewing (or just going on to your next fic, since I, as a reader myself, know that not all of you will review XD) If you do read this, tell me if it's interesting/useful/helpful and if I should do so from now on:

**American Cars:** American cars have a reputation of being gas-guzzling, short life-span, rickety death traps on wheels. Most Americans I talk to (including my dad) prefer to buy cars from foreign car manufacturers to ensure their getting the most for their money.

**Jay Z:** Rap music is way more popular here than in the UK. With music in general, us Americans enjoy blasting it out of our stereos at high volumes.

**The Dougie:** The Dougie is a dance craze in the United States based around the song "Teach Me How To Dougie." Sort of dying out now (as all fads do), but it can still be seen in clubs and high school dances all across the nation.

**New York's Best Pizza:** I didn't have an actual location in mind, but this is based on the fact that a lot of the pizza places in New York share the same name, such as New York's First Pizza and other generic titles. When asking locals for recommendations, it's best to just get the address and not worry about the title.

**Gay Babies:** Not a real superstition here, but sort of a nation-wide inside joke for high-schoolers. Every time there's an awkward silence, a gay baby is born.

**Bro!Canada:** If America was a girl, I picture her and Mattie's relationship as being a bit different. As a girl, she'd be much more aware of her brother, and he'd be protective of her (even though she doesn't need it). The sibling friendship would be beautiful.

**America vs Allison: **I envision how the nations deal with each other as countries (America) is different than how they deal with each other as people (Allison).

**Polite Canadians:** The American stereotype of a Canadian is a super polite to the point that they put others before themselves and take that mindset to an _extreme_.

**Liechtenstein and Switzerland:** I've recently watched the Paint It! White movie. Could the conversations between these two be any more awkward? "Big Brother, I'm very happy right now, I just thought I'd let you know." "…" Fuck's sake, man… they are hilarious to write XD.

**France:** From the American viewpoint, France should be Italy. The joke Japan made in the anime about Italian tanks moving slow in attack, but fast in retreat? We have millions of jokes like that about France. That's why America's so confident she can take him in a fight. I also have him speak the most of his own language out of the ESL nations because I think it fits his character. Americans find the French language to be very seductive, and that works for him!

**Bad Heroes:** The references America made are of comic books that are notorious for acts of superdickery. Batman in All Star Batman and Robin is the complete psycho from which we get the internet meme "I'm the Goddamn Batman" and Superman in the 70's…well, check out the site to see what I mean.

**Pizza:** Brooklyn style pizza (which is what they are eating in this chapter) is famous for being thin of crust with very large slices. It's custom to fold it in half before eating it, mainly because that's the only way to really eat something that big, but also because it helps to keep the toppings from falling off or for all the cheese to come off with the first bite.

**Boorish Colonials:** Boorish means rude, clumsy, oafish, and pretty much uncivilized. Back in the colony days, this is what some of the higher class British folk thought of the people in the American colonies, even of some of the higher class colonials, mostly as a result of the already diverging "personalities" of the two. Even back then, America was seen as somewhat of a classless buffoon.

**Rumors:** I didn't really have any nations in mind for the rumor bit, so I left it up to speculation.

**Angry Fem!America:** Now this one bugs me a bit. Lots of other ficthors write Angry!Fem!America with a southern accent, but I believe that an angry Fem!America is a ghetto Fem!America. Yes, southern girls don't take crap from anybody, but if you really want to get yourself into trouble, piss off a ghetto girl, I promise you, you will bleed before it's all said and done, because they fight _dirty_. I think why most writers don't write her like this is because they're afraid people might think they're being racist. I don't see it that way, maybe because all the ghetto girls I know are of different ethnicities (including white) and I've been called ghetto myself (and I'm half white, half Asian). And to be honest, in an anime like this where national stereotypes are the anchors of a character's characterization? Why all this walking on eggshells bull all of a sudden?

**American Slang:** Here are some definitions for you:

**Pop the trunk:** To threaten to get your weapon out with the intention of using it on somebody. Referring to opening the trunk of your car to retrieve the gun you're keeping there.

**Shanked:** To be stabbed with a shank (a homemade knife).

**Boujy:** High class.

**Panties:** I actually got that tip (almost word-for-word) out of a teen magazine.

_Well that's all I have for now! Next chapter: flashbacks, underwear shopping, and some GerIta moments!_

_Later, baybays!_


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